


A Scandal in London

by osheffields



Series: In another life... [1]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, They're solving a murder and falling in love, enemies to crime solving partners to friends to lovers, oh it's a modern AU obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osheffields/pseuds/osheffields
Summary: Kate Sheffield is a serious journalist and she is on the hunt for the truth. The truth that could blow the most talked about murder case in England wide open. And launch her career. The only thing standing in her way, of course, is the barrister in charge of said case: Anthony Bridgerton.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Series: In another life... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196639
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	1. The rudest man in London

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same universe as my other fic, Wherever You Stray, I Follow; which focuses on Benedict and Sophie. It takes place a year prior to any event in that story. So if you want to know how Kate & Anthony got together in that universe, welcome! Please review because I, like Newton, need attention and validation always.

Kate Sheffield had had the misfortune of encountering Anthony Bridgerton three times in her life. The first, had been at a party for the magazine she interned at. A mutual friend had introduced her as “Edwina Sheffield’s sister” and Anthony had looked at her for about half a second, distractedly eyeing some other woman at the bar and nodded. 

“You’re just as beautiful as your sister,” he said, not even looking at her. Kate knew she hated him right then and there. Because not only was he a rude asshole that didn’t think her worthy of so much as a glance. Not only was he a gross man-whore who couldn’t keep it in his pants long enough to at least _pretend_ to have manners. He was also a liar. 

Kate was not as beautiful as Edwina. Oh no, spare her the pity party, please. She didn’t feel badly about it. Edwina _was_ beautiful. Always had been. She had been scouted as a model inside a supermarket at age 13 while the agent actually shoved her handbag into Kate’s arms so she could eagerly riffle through it for a business card to hand Mary. That’s how not-as-beautiful-as-Edwina she was. One would think Kate would at least be able to say“Edwina might be the beautiful one but _I’m_ the smart one” or “the kind one” or “the funny one”. But alas, that was all Edwina as well. Kate was...well, Kate was Kate. And she was more than alright with that. 

But she was getting sidetracked. Where was she?

Oh right, Anthony Bridgerton...

_**T**_ he second time she was face to face with the devil himself was in her tiny cluttered cubicle at the same magazine she worked at when she met him. She’d been recently promoted from “unpaid intern” to “underpaid whatever-we-need-you-for”. And most recently, they’d needed her to write page filler for the society pages. It was demeaning and dull but it was better than fetching coffee for her boss which was what she’d _been_ doing. They’d given her a deadline of “after lunch” which was in 45 minutes. Panicking, she’d texted Edwina.

_-K: They’ve asked me to write some stupid little blurb for the society pages so if you happen to have seen Bella Hadid making out with someone at fashion week, I would really like to know. x_

_-E: Not exactly Bella but do you remember how Siena Rosso performed at the VS show? Guess who was there with her backstage?_

Moments later, a picture of the rudest man in London appeared on her screen and he just so happened to be in the middle of kissing a certain pop star’s neck. She forced down the shudder that threatened to take over her body at the thought of Anthony Bridgerton giving _anyone_ neck and instead texted her sister back. 

_-K: I’m not even going to ask why you have a picture of this because you just saved my life. xx_

Two days later the man of the hour had barged into her office. When she thought about it later, she was a little unsettled that he’d seemed to know exactly when she would be alone at the end of the day; but she wouldn’t put it past him to linger in the car park, watching all of her co-workers go home, one by one, until he knew for sure only Kate was left; like the sociopath he was. 

“YOU!” He’d bellowed across the office space. The biscuits Kate had been trying to shove into her mouth after she’d skipped lunch fell to the ground and for a good few seconds she was actually _scared_ as she watched him approach her. In truth, she’d all but forgotten about the magazine article. For all she knew in that moment, he was there to simply murder her with no reason at all. He slapped the magazine he carried onto her desk. “ _What_ is the meaning of this?”

When she put the pieces together, she found herself thoroughly underwhelmed. 

“A magazine?” She replied cooly.

“ _A magazine,_ ” he mocked with actual murder in his eyes, “with my _personal life_ splashed on its pages.”

Kate choked on her laugh. Anthony Bridgerton was not only an ass and a liar, he was also a fucking _drama queen._

“It’s _one_ picture with less than 75 words in the caption. I should know, I get paid by the word.” 

“You have no right to invade my privacy like this. There are laws against this.” 

“Are you going to sue me?” She asked, arching a brow. She realized he was a barrister that had brought grown men to tears in court but she couldn’t help but rise to his challenge. He was being ridiculous and that only lent itself to her trying to out-do him. 

“You have no right,” he said again. 

Kate sighed and rose from her desk, beginning to gather her things to leave for the day. She had truly had enough of this man to last her a lifetime. 

“I don’t see what you’re so angry about,” she said flippantly and she could see out of her peripheral his eyes get even wider with rage. “The picture of those two _Love Island_ people is much bigger than yours, so clearly, you’re not even that important. I doubt anyone even cares you’re dating this woman.” 

Anthony grabbed the magazine and crumpled it in his fist. 

“My name cannot be dragged through the pages of some gossip rag! I’m a public servant!”

“You’re a barrister.”

“I have a public image to uphold!”

“You really don’t.”

“I have a _family_ of which I am the head of!”

“And are they not delighted that you have a girlfriend? I should think that’s the kind of news to share with your family.”

“My personal life is none of their business! I am _trying_ to-” He cut himself off, furious that he’d already said so much. Kate watched him unravel with great delight; something that didn’t go unnoticed by him. He took several steps towards her, until he was huffing and puffing right in her personal space. Kate would have tried to step back but she already knew that the desk would be in her way and so instead she held her ground and stuck her nose in the air proudly. She would _not_ be intimidated by this man. No matter that at this distance she could see every detail of his face. His intense, dark gaze -made more intense by his anger-, his perfectly windswept dark hair, the stubble on his face and the curve of his lips. She blinked. Oh, Kate, what the hell? _His lips?_ She really had to stay focused. 

“You, Miss Sheffield,” he said while his eyes roamed her face, his voice threateningly quiet, “need to learn a little something about journalistic integrity!”

Kate’s nose was still in the air and she sniffed a little, to show how unaffected she was by the entire situation, of course.

“And you, Mr. Bridgerton...” She scanned his face again, intent on finding a flaw to remind her why she couldn’t stand the sight of him. “...Need to shave your sideburns!” 

_**T**_ he third time she saw him, about a year later, she really, desperately wished it could be someone else - _anyone_ else- that she was there to see. Because the third time she saw him, she _needed_ him. Her entire career, in a cruel twist of fate, depended on him and she had a foreboding feeling Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t going to make this easy on her.


	2. The case of Lord and Lady Twombley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to start on the case! Comments are always appreciated! :D

Anthony Bridgerton was a ridiculous man. Kate knew that because of the increasingly creative ways he kept finding to reject her calls, e-mails and dodge her requests to meet with him. 

A week ago he’d replied to one of her e-mails asking for an appointment with the following: 

_Miss Sheffield,_

_Mr. Anthony Bridgerton will be unable to meet you this week and for the foreseeable future. As you are well aware, the case of Ms Eliza Twombley is of an extremely sensitive nature. As such, any information relayed to the press will be done at Mr. Bridgerton’s discretion to someone with the utmost_ _journalist integrity_ _._

 _Regards,  
_ _The Office of Anthony Bridgerton._

_The office of Anthony Bridgerton._ Kate scoffed. As if the mention of “journalist integrity” hadn’t given it away that Bridgerton had typed the e-mail himself. What an idiot. 

When her e-mails started bouncing back, she’d sent him a hand written letter. The next day a bouquet of flowers had shown up at her door and Kate had almost been excited; no one had ever sent her flowers before. Until she opened the envelope enclosed and out fell a paper copy of the same stupid e-mail he’d sent her but this time on fancy, thick stationary with his name embossed at the top. She crumpled it up and put the flowers in in the downstairs powder room so she didn’t have to look at them. Edwina routinely brought back so many flowers that she received in her dressing rooms at photoshoots and runway shows, that no one would question the new addition.

So yes, Anthony Bridgerton was ridiculous. But Kate could be ridiculous too. And if that was the way he wanted to play, she was game. Which was exactly what she was doing waiting outside his office for the last two hours. She didn’t have a car, which meant that she had been sitting on the pavement outside the courtrooms in a part of London that _definitely_ frowned upon people loitering outside. She’d gotten no less than five dirty looks from a couple of men in suits walking into the courts and a few security officers. Kate glared right back. It was a free country and she was a grown woman who would sit on the ground on the side of the road all day if she damn well pleased. 

Finally, after seemingly every last barrister in England had gone home for the day, she saw Anthony Bridgerton appear. _Of course_ he was the last to leave work. 

“Mr. Bridgerton!” 

She sprang to her feet and started running full speed towards him, where he was waiting for his car to be brought around to him. Anthony turned, a frown already forming on his face -or maybe he was perpetually frowning-, and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. 

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said again, out of breath. “Before Ms Twombley’s case goes to court next month, I can’t stress enough how important it is that the public be made aware of the full story.” Anthony completely ignored her as she rambled on. For a moment she thought he would actually climb into his waiting car and leave her standing there talking to herself. He _was_ the rudest man in London, after all. But it didn’t deter her. “Public opinion could sway the judge in your favor! If I could only speak with Ms Twomb-”

Just as Anthony was about to get into his extremely luxurious (extremely beautiful) car, he turned back with a wild look in his eye and glared at Kate. 

“Why? So that the public can continue to torment the poor woman, aided by you smearing her name in the press like you did with mine?”

Kate gaped at him. He couldn’t be serious.

“Mr. Bridgerton, I hardly think a meaningless gossip piece I was forced to write _a year ago_ could be compared to an interview with a woman accused of murdering her own brother and his wife!” 

“Ms Twombley is my client. She is being judged by the whole of England for a crime she didn’t commit and my job is not only to prove her innocence but also to protect her from those in the public who wish to play judge, jury and executioner. I’m sure even you can understand why I cannot risk the press getting involved.” 

He finally made it inside his car but just as he was about to slam the door shut, Kate shouted out: 

“I think she’s innocent!”

He stopped with the door half-open and looked at her, wordlessly. 

“Let me talk to her; let me help.” Kate said quietly this time. “I know I can help. _Please_ , let me help,” she begged. 

Anthony stared at her for what might have been the longest five seconds of her life and he shut the door without another word, peeling into the street at full speed and into the setting sun. 

* * *

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” Kate groaned at her notes, which were spread across the dining table, some hours later. Mary walked into the dining room with Newton at her heels, tail wagging happily. 

“Kate, I think this dog wants something.”

“He wants you to pet him,” she muttered, without looking up from the files she’d amassed about the Twombley case. Newton always wanted the same thing. 

“But I pet him this morning! And who do you hate? Hate is such an ugly word.”

“Anthony Bridgerton. I hate Anthony Bridgerton.”

“I thought you were going to see him today and ask him to let you interview that poor lady.”

“I did,” she said, turning over the page where she’d written the timeline of the alleged murder. “He refused. Hence why I hate him.” She threw her head down to rest on the table, exhausted. There was only so many times she could look over the same information she already had. Without speaking to Eliza Twombley, she was just chasing her own tail; much like Newton at the moment. Somewhere behind her, she heard the front door open. “I hate him. I hate him.” She muttered to herself like a deranged woman. 

“Anthony Bridgerton?” She heard Edwina’s voice ask. Kate nodded. 

“Please don’t tell me he recited that stupid e-mail to your face.”

Kate sat up and pushed her mussed hair out of her face. 

“Oh no! He accused me of _smearing his good name_ and of having the intention to smear Eliza Twombley’s name and torment her in the press. He didn’t accuse me of murdering Princess Diana because he ran out of time, I presume.” 

Edwina snorted.

“What do you mean ‘smearing his name’?” 

“He’s not over the fact that I told _The London Enquirer_ ’s entire _twelve_ readers, who found the magazine in a doctor’s waiting room, about his relationship with that singer.”

“You’re _joking_!” 

Kate fixed her sister with a ‘do I look like I’m joking?’ look and Edwina dissolved into a fit of laughter. 

“That’s...” she tried to speak but kept laughing instead. “That’s...” more laughter. “Oh god, that’s so stupid,” she said, wiping physical tears from her eyes. At least one of them was seeing the humor in the situation, Kate thought miserably. 

“I told him I thought she was innocent! I told him I wanted to help him!” Kate threw her hands up in humiliated frustration. “I _begged,_ Edwina. I looked at that horrible man in the sideburns and I _begged._ ” 

Edwina clicked her tongue and gave her sister an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Well, you can’t give up just because Bridgerton refuses to let you talk to Ms Twombley. You wanted to write this story. You quit your job to tell it. You _can’t_ give up.” 

“Kate,” Mary walked into the dining room and interrupted the sisters. “Clean this mess up dear, we’re about to have dinner.”

Kate sighed and started gathering her things. She’d spent the last three months piecing together the details of the case. She had quit a comfortable, if miserable, job to dedicate her time to this because this would be the story that would position her as the respected journalist she wanted to be. She (and Newton) had moved out of her flat and moved in with Edwina and Mary to save on costs. She had given up everything and now she’d hit a dead end. A dead end that looked a lot like the odious Anthony Bridgerton.

“If I can’t talk to Eliza, I have nothing,” she said to Edwina, and then dragged herself to her bedroom. 

* * *

This is what Kate knew about the Twombley case:

Nearly a year ago, supermodel Cressida Cowper had made headlines by marrying one old Lord Twombley. The man was nearly _thrice_ her age but was also titled and presumably one of the wealthiest men in England. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what exactly Cressida had seen in him. Far be it from Kate to speak ill of the dead but despite her status as fashion’s “It Girl”, Cressida had never exactly gotten glowing reviews from Edwina’s interactions with her. And this was Edwina, they were talking about, who could find something nice to say about virtually anyone! Even Anthony Bridgerton had received a “well, I heard he’s very nice to his siblings” comment from Edwina! 

Kate digressed. Whatever Cressida’s personality failings, she did not deserve to disappear just three months into her marriage, along with her elderly husband; and one month after that, declared dead along with him; with foul play involved. If the news of their hasty marriage hadn’t shaken England, the news of their sudden deaths had. Lord Towmbley was a member of parliament and Cressida was well-known and well-liked by the public.

It was Cressida’s mother who was the first to drag Eliza Twombley’s name into the minds of the public and the authorities. She had a motive: she was Lord Twombley’s aging, spinster sister who had always disapproved of her brother’s marriage to someone so young and clearly interested in his money. Not to mention the fortune that she would be missing out on at her brother’s passing, if he left behind a wife. At the surface, even Kate had to admit it seemed an open and shut case if you desperately wanted someone to point the finger at. 

But Kate had never believed that story. It was a little _too_ perfect. She had a hard time accepting something could so easily wrap itself up and she had a list of theories a kilometer long that said something else was at play. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was overlooking something. She felt as if the answer was staring at her right in the face and she just needed one more piece and the picture would be complete. That piece was surely Eliza herself. 

From the moment Anthony Bridgerton had arrived on the scene to defend her (which had been nearly immediately after the news broke), he’d kept Eliza hidden away. Kate had to admit he was in the right for wanting to protect her. Mrs. Cowper had done an excellent job at pushing her theory of the events and given the brutal nature of the deaths, the public was vying for justice. 

Kate had hoped, against all hope, that Anthony Bridgerton would find it in his heart to throw her a bone and let her near the case. She was on his side, after all. She believed in Eliza’s innocence. And she had spent the last few months of her life scrounging for every last crumb of information she could find. And that was despite the fact that Bridgerton had been extremely thorough in erasing nearly everything useful from the public record. If she had access to what he had access to, she could figure out what really happened to the couple; she was convinced. She was even willing to work _alongside_ the man if that’s what he wanted! Bridgerton could win his case and give an innocent woman back her life. Kate could tell the story to the entire country. And she could establish her name in her industry. It was a win-win from any way she looked at it. It was a shame Bridgerton refused to see it that way.

* * *

When Kate dreamt these days, it was of murder. Oh, nothing horrible and bloody and macabre, she wasn’t _that_ deranged (“yet,” Edwina would say). She dreamt of her lists, really; as boring as that sounded. She dreamt of her evidence and her interviews and her timelines and even in her sleep she was trying to solve this case which, yes, made her obsessive but it’s really not like she had anything else going on. When she quit her job at the magazine, all of her flimsy friendships with her work colleagues had disintegrated, her friends from university had all gone off to other parts of the country and married and now she only saw them via Facebook updates of their toddlers. And she hadn’t had a whiff of a date in literal ages. She supposed there were worse things to spend all your waking (and non-waking) hours on other than trying to solve a murder but she hadn’t exactly been able to come up with any. 

She felt sleep slowly overtaking her and she felt triumphant; she’d been laying awake in her bed for hours. Suddenly, her mobile pinged loudly on her nightstand; effectively scaring all the sleep out of her. 

She cursed and reached over, looking at the unknown number and also realizing it was nearly four in the morning. 

_-?: This is Anthony Bridgerton._

Her heart started beating wildly in her chest. Anthony Bridgerton was texting her. She frowned. At 3:45 in the morning. Did this man not sleep, or what?

Another incoming message appeared.

_-A: You may be able to help me with the Twombley case after all. Let’s talk at noon. Meet me at this address:_

He sent her the address to a cafe all the way in Mayfair and she put the phone down and sank into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. He was texting her at odd hours of the night, _telling_ her to meet him instead of asking, sending her somewhere completely out of the way for her probably because it was convenient for him. And yet she needed to toe the line because _she_ needed _him._ Insufferable man. 

* * *

When she arrived at the cafe the next morning, she caught sight of him through the window before she walked in and she stopped to watch him for a second, taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t seen her. He’d just arrived himself, she saw him take a seat at a table and not ten seconds later his leg starting bobbing up and down impatiently and he checked his wristwatch. Once. Twice. Kate couldn’t help but smile to herself. It was a Saturday, he presumably didn’t have to work today; not to mention she was five minutes _early_ and he was already twitching with impatience. She shook her head as she watched him. If that man unclenched for as much as a minute, she was convinced it would tear a hole in the fabric of reality. 

Still, it was strange to watch him try to _look_ like a normal human, dressing casual on a Saturday. She’d only ever seen him in perfectly tailored, perfectly expensive suits. Today he wore dark jeans and a long sleeve cotton shirt and he looked about as casual as he probably could manage. Twitching leg and all.

When she entered the cafe and he saw her, he stood; which she found oddly gentlemanly but then remembered he was a Bridgerton. He probably dined with the freaking queen herself on a regular basis. 

“Finally! I’ve been here for ages.” He grumbled, as he sat down.

She bit back a smile and contained an eye roll but didn’t say anything because she genuinely didn’t think he was lying or exaggerating. He really _did_ believe waiting 3 minutes was an age.

“I see you finally took my advice about the sideburns,” she gestured at his face which sported stubble and sideburns of a suitable length. It wasn’t a bad look, she had to admit.

Whatever comment he had been about to say to go with his sour look was interrupted by the waitress coming to take their order.

After he’d ordered an espresso and she some tea, they got right down to business.

“I’m prepared to allow you to talk to Eliza.” 

She wanted to protest at the thought of him “allowing her” to do anything but bit her tongue. 

“I want more than just an interview.” 

He watched her impassively, waiting for her to go on.

“I believe Eliza is innocent and I want to help you prove it.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at her with doubt.

“I could help with anything you need,” she offered. “How many people do you have working on the case with you?”

Anthony blinked and shrugged one shoulder.

“None. I’m working alone.” 

Their drinks arrived but Kate barely registered it; she was far too busy staring at him like he’d grown another head.

“What? That’s insane; it’s a huge case.”

“It requires discretion.” 

“And you’d be willing to let me in? Just like that?”

He cocked his head from side to side, thinking it over. Nothing was ever that simple, was it?

“I think we can come to an arrangement. I’d be willing to give you access to the case, but you have to do something for me.” 

Kate _should_ be worried about what kind of favor he’s going to ask in return but she’s too busy processing the first part of what he’d just said. 

“Access to...everything?”

“Yes,” he said casually, sipping his coffee. She squinted at him, trying to figure out his angle. This had to be a trap.

“I could look at all your files? And all the information you scrubbed from every police record?”

He smiled a little at that; clearly impressed with himself. “Noticed that, did you?” 

“I can have all of it? And I can write about it afterwards?”

He shrugged like she’d just asked him to borrow fare for the tube. 

“Sure.”

She used the excuse of drinking her tea to think it over. It was exactly what she wanted. It was everything she wanted. But he’d said it came with a price and she was not in the business of making deals with the devil. She put her tea cup down and eyed him suspiciously.

“What do you want then, Bridgerton?”

“I want a date.”

Kate choked on air and Anthony smirked, raising a brow arrogantly before continuing.

“With your sister, Edwina.

She glared at him. He’d paused deliberately, to watch her reaction as he asked for a date and he was now indulging in thinking himself clever enough to have pulled the rug out from under her. Well, the joke was on him.

“Edwina won’t go out with you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you ask her and let her decide?”

“Trust me, you’re not her type.”

“I’m everybody’s type.”

Kate had to laugh at that. Which didn’t exactly amuse him.

“You’re not _my_ type,” she pointed out. “And you’re definitely not Edwina’s.” 

“Then I’m afraid we have no deal,” he looked away petulantly and she leaned forward across the table to grab his attention.

“What is wrong with you, hmm?” She questioned, disbelief in her voice. “Do you think that just because you’re wealthy and titled and...” she gestured vaguely towards the general direction of his face. “Look like a knock-off Hugh Jackman, you’re entitled to whatever poor girl you want to flaunt around on your arm for the week? Did your mother not hold you enough as a baby or something?” 

She watched him bite the inside of his cheek, making a conscious and obviously herculean effort to not reply to her comment about his mother. 

“Those are my terms, Miss Sheffield. Take them or leave them.” 

She mulled over her options, liking each one less than the last. She didn’t _want_ to have to give in to Anthony Bridgerton but what choice did she have? She couldn’t live in Edwina’s flat forever, and her bank account reminded her, she needed this story. Plus, she knew that if she had the right information, she could uncover what really happened to Lord Twombley and Cressida. She couldn’t just give up and let an innocent woman go to prison. Perhaps she could ask this one, massive favor of Edwina. Oh, she’d kill her for it but there was a chance (a very high one) that her sister loved her enough to do it as a favor to Kate. She steeled herself to speak; Anthony would never let her concede to him with dignity.

“I am not a pimp. I will _suggest_ that Edwina go out with you _one, singular time_ ,” she emphasized the quantity pointedly. Anthony leaned back in his chair and watched her patiently. “But the decision will be up to her.” 

“You’re going to have to do better than that. If she doesn’t say yes, you don’t have access to the case,” he stood and reached for his wallet, throwing a few pounds on the table. “So try to be convincing.” He winked at her and without another word Anthony Bridgerton sauntered off, leaving Kate to fume silently into her tea. 


End file.
